Worth the Effort: The Worth Series Book 3 Page 3

  She felt his arms close in tighter until they were touching her hips. Her too-wide hips. What was happening? His hands grasped her hips, then smoothed their way up higher, until they were poised at her elbows.

  Damien didn't say anything, just brought his eyes to hers. It was what she thought Mrs. Harman, her English teacher, would call a 'speaking glance.' But Lila couldn't believe what it was saying.

  Lower your arms.

  Let me touch you.

  Fat chance.

  She felt him applying pressure to her arms, his fingers squeezing her gently. She wanted to panic but instead she uncrossed her arms, letting them fall loosely at her sides. His eyes dipped to her breasts, and she knew he had to notice her hardened nipples as they poked out of the thin material of her shirt.

  Then his hands were on her. There. He boldly cupped her breasts and her breath wheezed in and out. No boy had ever touched her. None had even considered it, that she knew of. She was the fat girl, the one who stood on the fringes, who had never been on a date or asked to the school dance. So why was the class hunk touching her now, in her hot and cramped kitchen, when she was all sweaty and ill-prepared?

  Lila heard the screen door slam shut and the chipper voice of her mother. "Lila, I'm home. Where are you?"

  Damien jumped backwards as if scalded. Lila crossed her arms over her chest again and breathed deeply.

  "Did you melt in all this heat?" Her mother's voice was getting closer, and then she was there, at the kitchen entryway. "Oh hi, Damien. I didn't know you were here."

  "Just getting a drink of water," he responded, and Lila was amazed how normal his voice sounded. She thought that if she tried to talk right now, it would come out somewhere between an embarrassed moan and a high-pitched squeak. "I'm picking up the box for the church sale."

  "Oh yes," her mother said, her smile wide. "I thought I saw that in the hallway."

  "I'll be going now," Damien said, heading out of the kitchen and toward the front door. Lila didn't move as her mother followed him. She heard the door shut, then her mother's heavy footsteps as she returned to the kitchen.

  "He's handsome," she'd said with a grin, and Lila had rolled her eyes.

  * * *

  She mimicked the movement now, in her car as she made the last turn toward her home. Her mother's home. The tiny house that she was presently considering whether to put on the market.

  She could use the capital for her move to Portland, for the lease on the space she needed and the equipment. But the house had so many memories, memories of the summer before her senior year included.

  More importantly, the house reminded her of her mother. A large, rosy-cheeked lady who had always kept an optimistic outlook on life even when her circumstances would have ground a lesser woman down. It seemed wrong to sell it. Better to take a risk, use her savings and the generous payment from Brice and Janna, and hope that her business picked up fast.

  Maybe the person Janna had mentioned at her reception would book her, and it would be enough to keep her afloat while she built up her clientele. As though her mind wanted to reward her for caving to the walk down memory lane, thoughts about her business kept her occupied as she pulled into the driveway and tiredly made her way toward the shower.

  In bed later that night, Lila's limbs were heavy, exhausted. She tumbled into sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. It seemed as if she wasn't done reliving her decade-old "summer romance" (if you could call it that. Really, you couldn't).

  She'd lain in bed that night too, sleepless, remembering the sensation of Damien's hands on her, unsure of how to feel about their interaction. Lila told herself that it had been some kind of mistake, some weird alignment of planets that had made the hottest boy in school want to touch her there. Like her mother she'd developed breasts that were much larger than average, to go with the rest of her, she assumed. Damien was a teenage boy, after all, and maybe he'd been blind to the rest of her lumpy shape and zeroed in on her unbound breasts.

  The memory of their contact made strange shivers run over her skin. It gave her an itch, down low, in the part of herself that she'd never seriously considered another person touching. She'd thought about it then, what it would feel like to have his fingers there, where only hers had ever been. It was thrilling...confusing...and created a surprising longing inside of her.

  The next morning had dawned just as hot as the day before, although Lila wondered if part of the irritation she experienced was due to a different kind of heat, a heat engendered by the Damien's touch. The fan wouldn't offer any relief, so she decided to go swimming in the river across the road from her house. The cold water would be refreshing, and maybe she could relax, clear her head while she floated in the current.

  She dressed in her plain black swimsuit which was at least a size too small she realized as she dragged it on for the first time this year. Lila pulled on some old cotton shorts to cover her big thighs, but decided to forgo the t-shirt she'd usually wear to hide her bulging breasts. It was too damn hot to add any more fabric to her ensemble, and besides, no one was usually around the stretch of river she preferred.

  Lila walked into the living room, the television catching her attention before she could make her exit. She didn't enjoy being alone in the quiet house, so she'd kept the TV on to have some noise to keep her company. This morning a rerun of Baking with Julia caught her attention, and after turning the fan on, she sat on the couch to watch Julia finishing up her petits fours.

  A knock at the door startled her, and Lila went to answer it, wondering who could possibly be bothering her before noon. She pulled open the heavy front door and stood at the screen. Her eyes widened when she saw Damien on the other side, shirtless again and standing on her stoop with a serious face.

  She said nothing as he opened the screen door and stepped inside. She didn't know what to say. Apparently he didn't either. He took a few steps into the hall, then must have followed the sound of the television into the living room. Lila's mouth worked but nothing came out, and when he sat down on the couch and turned his attention to the TV, she sat down beside him.

  Julia whipped her ingredients as Lila kept one eye on her guest. They'd still not spoken, and the tension in the room was palpable. She leaned back, unsure of what to do, and felt his arm cross her back to encircle her shoulders. His skin was warm but the heat was pleasant, if anxiety-inducing. One finger trailed up and down her shoulder blade, and she held in the shiver it produced.

  Lila wanted to ask him what he was doing, why he'd shown up this morning and what he could possibly want from her. But she couldn't. Instead she sat silently, her eyes on the TV but her mind focused on his hand as it moved lower, slipping under her arm to cup a breast. There was a sharp intake of breath, and Lila realized it was her own.

  Damien scooted closer, then angled her body toward him. Lila held still as his hand moved to her front to squeeze first one breast then the other. Then it slipped down the front of her swimsuit, his fingers brushing against her nipple, causing it to harden, as did its twin. Before she could react, he was pulling down the top of her swimsuit, sliding the straps off her arms to expose her chest to his gaze. And his touch.

  Lila could hardly breathe, sure she would pass out and make an even bigger fool of herself. But instead of fainting, she nearly jumped off the couch when Damien lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth.

  He sucked.

  She moaned.

  His movements increased in speed, in intensity. Damien was suddenly a man possessed, his hands kneading her chest, his lips skipping from one nipple to the other. When his tongue came out to lick her breasts she cried out again, her hips moving forward of their own accord. Then she noticed his hips did much the same.

  Damien released her breasts and leaned back, his hands going to his denim shorts. Lila heard the sound of a zipper and then he was exposed to her gaze. She gasped, feeling lightheaded and crazy in the heat. There it was, his...his...thing.

  Cock, her mind whispered, and she shivered but admitted how right the word felt.

  It was long and thin, and bright pink. For a second she wanted to laugh. Instead she stared at it. Until Damien grabbed her hand and pulled it to him. Then she was touching it, feeling its strange hard-and-softness. Experimentally she squeezed. Damien moaned.

  His hands were back on her breasts, teasing them now, tugging on the nipples until Lila cried out. She continued to explore his cock, wondering about the rest of it, which was still hidden inside his shorts. But before she could go farther, one of his hands grabbed hers. He pulled the hand to his mouth and gave it a lick, his saliva entirely coating her hand. Lila frowned and considered wiping it off, but then he wrapped that hand back around himself. His hand above hers, he showed her how to hold it, how to stroke it, up and down, the pace steady.

  Damien returned both hands to her breasts as she stroked him. Before long he released her, then leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. Lila watched in wonder as his ab muscles jumped, as his thigh muscles clenched and unclenched. Damien let out a moan, and she felt his hardness twitch in her hand. It jumped once, twice, and then a sticky white substance was weeping from the head. Oh shit! She knew what that was.

  Instinctually she slowed down her strokes but did not move her hand. It was covered in his seed, and she wasn't sure what to do next. Damien's face was flushed, his cheeks red. Then he opened his eyes and his gaze burned into her. Lila held her breath, wondering what would come next...

  The phone rang.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Shrilly it cried that it would not be ignored. Lila ran to the kitchen, turning on the water in the sink while grabbing the receiver with her clean hand. As the soiled hand was stuck under the spray, the other brought the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

  "Hey honey." Her mother.

  Lila tried desperately to sound normal. "Hey."

  "I wanted to let you know that I'll be a little late getting home tonight. I've got an appointment after work."

  "Oh?" Lila hoped her mother couldn't hear her breath heaving.

  "Yes. I've been feeling a little run down lately and figured I better have it checked out. What good is health insurance if you don't use it, right?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Well, I'll be home late, so feel free to get dinner started. I love you."

  "Love you."

  Lila set down the phone and finished washing her hands. Hearing a sound from the hallway her head cocked in that direction. Taking several deep breaths, she made her way back toward the living room. She noticed idly that the front door was standing open. Then she saw the couch was empty. Damien had fled.

  * * *

  Lila woke then, the memory of that sound, the screen door hitting the frame, echoing through her mind. Better that then the memory of what that doctor's visit had revealed. A condition that would only worsen, until her huge, healthy mother had been reduced to a whimpering skeleton in a hospital bed.

  She sat up, brushing a stray lock of hair off her face, eyeing the curtains which had yet to lighten with the dawn. There was plenty to do today, many mindless tasks during which she could forget the past. A past that would once again settle around her when she returned to this small house, alone. Lonely.

  3

  Alexander Drake strode down the hallway, dropping his bag as he made his way toward the room his decorator had christened the Blue Parlor.

  "Alana?"

  She'd said she'd be here when he got home tonight. But the Blue Parlor was empty, as was the divan Alana liked to inhabit while paging through stacks of tabloids and fashion magazines. Drake stalked down the hall, calling her name again.

  The kitchen was dark and he knew he wouldn't find her there. Instead he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. He drank deeply, then almost wiped his sleeve across his mouth before he remembered he was wearing a $3,000 custom tailored suit jacket.

  She was probably upstairs. Maybe she was in the French tub, up to her neck in bubbles, waiting for him to join her. Sadly the thought of the ice blond model nude except for bubble bath did little to arouse his libido.

  Alana was spectacular, 5' 10" and 115 pounds, straight blond hair, likely a color nature never produced, teeth a similar nature-defying white, and high, pert tits. She'd done shows in Italy, in France, and in Hong Kong, as well as New York and L.A. Although she was in her mid-twenties and therefore aging out of several of her previous bookings, she still made a nice living off her looks. And since she was the face of an additive and cruelty free makeup line out of Portland, she now spent much of her time in his city.

  Hell, now that he was gonna marry her, she'd never have to pose for another picture. Not for the money anyway. Alex was sure she'd have no problem settling into the routine of a trophy wife. She probably posed for the mold of that little gold woman on the top of the damn trophy herself.

  Maybe that's where she was now, because she wasn't in the tub. Nor the bed. Not anywhere on the second floor. Alex pulled of his tie and tossed it on the floor, then kicked off his shoes. Looked like his plans for the night were turning to shit. He dug out his phone and sent his wayward girlfriend a text.

  Where are you?

  A few minutes later, minutes in which he changed into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt, he received a response.

  Something came up downtown. Another time?

  Alex sighed. He had a pretty good idea what had come up. Alana wasn't one for quiet nights at home. She liked the nightlife, liked the attention on her, and the cameras even better. Her poise under the lens made her an excellent candidate for the kind of wife he needed. Still, she didn't have to enjoy it so much.

  As he swiped his response into existence, a weight descended. Tomorrow 8 pm? Castagna? She wouldn't turn down an invitation to the high-profile eatery. She soon confirmed it.

  Of course.

  Looked like he had one more night of freedom. And he couldn't think of a damn thing to do with it but lie on his bed staring at the ceiling. Then he turned, and his gaze fell on the night stand and the ring box he'd set down earlier.

  He'd planned a quiet evening in. He'd order some dessert, light some candles, open a bottle of wine, then propose. The ten carat yellow diamond creation was guaranteed to be irresistible. Alex had seen Alana twitter like a magpie at nearly anything shiny, so the ten carat stunner was sure to please. Then he'd be engaged, and soon after married.

  He'd always known he'd marry someday, but he hadn't given it serious thought in years. Not since dating had become a competition in college. And now his greatest rival was married. Worse, to a woman Alex respected. If that wasn't a kick in the dick, what was?

  So what was his solution? Get himself hitched as well. And if it wasn't to a woman he exactly respected, at least it was one who knew how to fit into his lifestyle. A lifestyle as confining as his designer suits and expensive shoes. And at times as annoying as the overpriced food and stifling atmosphere he'd be experiencing in place of the intimate proposal he'd wanted.

  Might as well call his publicist and get some photographers down by the restaurant. As one of the richest men in the country, and an attractive bachelor who'd been tied to a handful celebrities and successful models over the years, he remained in the public eye. Not that it bothered him. Public relations was another necessary evil in building an empire. Besides, letting his publicist know before he proposed might save him the hassle of a press release.

  And Alana would eat it up. Anything to make his future bride happy.

  Alex sighed, wondering when it would be time to make himself happy.

  * * *

  "Yes. Of course, yes!"

  Alex smiled, slipping the weighty ring on her slim finger. Alana's eyes never left the diamond and he watched as she moved her finger up and down, smiling at the light reflecting in the yellow stone.

  As they left the restaurant she made sure to keep her left hand in sight of the cameras. Alana stalked the sidewalk like it was a runway but answered none of the questions lobbed at her. Alex followed, a tight grin on his face. It seemed like he'd be making that press release after all.

  In the limo she gripped his hand, thinking out loud as she brought up then discarded names of designers for her wedding dress.

  "The engagement party comes first," he told her. If he was gonna tie the knot, best follow protocol. "Two weeks from now at my place. I've already picked the caterer."

  "Right," she said, a megawatt smile on her face. "I'll need a new dress for that too."

  "Go to Saks. Put it on my account."

  Alana kissed him on the cheek and he nuzzled her ear. She smelled faintly of powder and makeup. He gave her ear an experimental nibble, but it didn't stop her stream of speech. "We should start looking at venues soon. And I've got just the right guy to do the photography--"

  Alex gave up his nibbling and sat back, leaned his head against the leather seat and closed his eyes. He wished they hadn't taken the limo, because he'd rather drive himself. At least it would give him something to do while she jawed on. But he'd known the occasion would merit champagne. And Alana loved the limo, so...

  At his place he followed her up the stairs, watching her hips sway under the silk slip dress. They were small hips, as nicely formed as the rest of her. Feeling detached, he watched as once in the bedroom she pulled the dress off and stood before him in nude lace panties and bra. He pulled off his own clothes, then took her into his arms.

  She felt barely there, almost insubstantial, a sensation that persisted as she placed her lips against his. Alex deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, licking at her tongue. It remained passive and he abandoned her mouth to move downward. Alana put her arms on his shoulders and stayed motionless as he cupped her breasts and planted kisses on the tops of the small mounds.